


Hamilton Roleplay Starters

by BopItsNeo



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Aaron Burr as a barista, Bottom Alexander Hamilton, Hamburr, Hanahaki Disease, Highschool AU, Ignorant Thomas Jefferson, Jamilton - Freeform, M/M, Sandwich Alexander Hamilton, Sub Alexander Hamilton, These are starters, Top/Dom everybody else, coffee shop AU, tags on chapters, thats it i think, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-06-19 19:06:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15516531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BopItsNeo/pseuds/BopItsNeo
Summary: Hamilton roleplay starters!!!they're all gay shipsPOV of Ham





	1. Chapter 1

College AU/Coffee Shop AU  
Hamburr

Alexander wasn't really sure if he loved or hated college.

Perhaps it was somewhere in the middle. Well, it was a sort of unbalanced beam, with the former being the majority. He loved the learning aspect, how he finally got to choose what he was most interested in and learn that. He loved that he wasn't forced to focus on algebra that he would never use in the real world, social skills that he just didn't care about, or the origin of Roman structures that he would never remember. He got to choose what he was interested in, and he loved that.

He also loved the late nights of studying, writing, thinking. He loved the bitter taste of coffee left from two mornings ago that he never had time to wash out of his mouth. He loved the fact he was able to major in four classes, with half an hour only every day in time to eat - well, drink more coffee, that is. He loved just how exhausted he was, the fact that he was still on beat, and almost ahead of the rest of the class. The fact he got to learn everything and anything he could. And, with Police Science, Financial Analyst, Legal Studies and Journalism being his majors, that half an hour of extra time was mostly used to study more.

However, that leads to what he hated about it. Well, there wasn't much, really. Almost only the amounts of group projects, forcing him to sharpen his socializing skills from highschool and get use to the fact not everybody can do work as perfectly as he can. Well, let's be honest - nobody could do it as well as he could, in his own mind. Pride had to have been one of his biggest attributes, rather it be good or bad, besides his determination and stubbornness. He wasn't allergic to people, of course. Socializing wasn't as big a problem as having to _work_ with people was. He could talk, he could charm, he could joke, and he could argue. That wasn't the problem. The problem was letting go of his control, for even half a second, to hand a grade over to somebody that could potentially fuck it up.

The worst type of person was the kind who didn't really talk to him. Of course, Alexander wasn't much of a talker. -- Well, yes, he really was. However, when it came to group projects, he would rather speak about the topic for an hour and spend the rest actually working on it rather than chatting up a storm about completely unimportant topics that may potentially waste their time. However, even then, he allowed room to talk about the project, when this type of person wouldn't even allow that. Sure, they let Alexander assign roles. They let him give people things to do, tell them how to do it, and make sure they don't mess up. But that's _all_. They don't really have a say in anything. They don't _allow_ themselves to have a say in anything. It was almost infuriating, just how passive they seemed to be in every topic, every situation. 

Alexander swore he would hate that kind of person, if he ever met the type. It was like unleashing a Ragdoll cat (a very relaxed, quiet breed with a low activity level) next to a Siberian Husky (known for being the most willing and hard-working sled dogs, as well as being quite loud and energetic). And he could guarantee one thing, he wasn't the cat.

This is a segway thing, because apparently I can't segway.

Remember that thirty-minute break I mentioned Alexander being able to have between classes, which he usually uses to study?  
Well, study and drink coffee. Clearly. How could he study if he didn't have the energy boost from drinking coffee? He couldn't. Which is why he needed his coffee.

Well, a coffee shop which was just released on campus was exactly where he would waste that time. Really, he wondered why he didn't just buy a coffee machine and put it in his dorm, annoying the hell out of a familiar John Laurens (whom he had bunked with) with the nonstop scratches of his pen, or the constant tapping of keys on his old, but not yet worn down laptop. Perhaps it was just easier for him to take a minute long treck to a cheap coffee shop than take five minutes up the stairs to a dorm that he spends little to no time in, anyway. Plus, him going to the shop made it easier to go back to his other classes in a shorter amount of time, which was definitely a plus. And there were plenty of cute people. Like frequenters who Alexander had already chatted with and grown to familiarize.

What? He could waste two minutes to speak. Cut him some slack.  
Anyway.

The coffee was cheap, and it wasn't like it was difficult to make his order - black. Simple. Make it hot, and put it in a cup, and Alexander would be perfectly satisfied. It was three fifty per cup, and despite being poor from origin and student debt, he still managed to pay it, which was a good sign. The coffee was steaming and he was able to have as many cups as he wanted without tasting the drink and noticing it's been watered down "for his own protection". ~~Stupid Starbucks.~~ Also, nobody complained about his clamorous typing, which was quite the plus. He was able to just sit in the corner, in one of the beanbag chairs - it was an indie sort of place, but he didn't much mind it - with his silence and his writing, his coffee and his overheating computer, his yawning and his taking a bite out of a sandwhich next to him.

He never noticed there was a sandwich next to him. Which leads to another segway. hehehe-

It would always be five minutes in, he'd be drinking his coffee, and he'd notice there was a fucking sandwich to his left. He never knew where it came from. He never knew who put it there. He never knew if it was even meant for him. The only thing that made him realize was when he absentmindedly noticed him chewing on a rather pleasant tasting meal that he never remembered ordering. He would notice, and glance around, and there would be nobody fucking looking at him. No foot turned to him, no signs of body language that proved anybody to be particularly interested in what he was doing; nada. Except for one person.

The fucking barista.

Now, Alexander was perfectly fine with this man. In fact, he was more than fine with this man. If he hadn't known that he would probably get thrown out by flirting with the man, and perhaps banned, he would have done so already. Of course, there were other things, like the possibility of him being in a relationship or even straight, but Alexander was too precarious to really care about any of that. However, when he was practically force-feeding Alexander in Alexander's subconscious, he couldn't help but be even a little peeved. It's not like he was trying to starve himself, god no. Nothing of the sort. However, when he had to take time out of typing to take a bit out of a sandwich he didn't even know existed?

The shop was nearly empty, other than Alexander, A dark-skinned lady with a beautiful pink dress, a lighter one by her side with a baby blue instead of pink, and surprisingly, one of his professors in the corner. Oh, and that damned barista. Alexander didn't really care much for making or not making a scene, in all honesty, but it wasn't like he was about to expose the man. He didn't quite fancy an audience for a sandwich mishap. So, taking his coffee and his sandwich, and making his way up to the counter - noticing a nametag on the male's chest, he now wasn't 'the barista', but a certain 'Aaron burr', - he leaned over it, cupping the side of his mouth with one hand as if his usual volume wasn't enough - (as it usually is), before speaking -  
"Pardon me! Are you Aaron Burr, sir?"


	2. Hanahaki Disease - Jamilton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanahaki Disease - Jamilton

Hanahaki Disease   
Jamilton  
TW: Blood, Hemoptysis, coughing flowers and vines

The Hanahaki Disease is a fictional disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings (romantic love only; strong friendship is not enough), or when the victim dies. It can be cured through surgical removal, but when the infection is removed, the victim's romantic feelings for their love also disappear. The happy ending version is when the object of the victim's love returns their affections, thus making the love no longer unrequited. The victim is then cured of the disease. This may happen spontaneously when the object of affections realizes his (it's usually a him) love, or the disease may require the object to persuade the victim that their love is mutual. If the victim cannot believe that his beloved returns his love, he will die.   
If one were to enter Alexander Hamilton's office, they wouldn't really find anything abnormal or worrying at all. His desk was perfectly organized, with stacks of paper on either side, folders and files stacked neatly in his drawers, his pen and pencil always ready to prove themselves needed, and his coffee cup, always full, on the right side of his papers. Though, the sight could easily differ. Like today. Instead of his room and desk being clean, it was covered in flowers of almost any and all colours, with vines, and blood on the floor and desk. It was as if somebody was killed in the mist of gardening. Alexander decided to study the flowers he found escaping his lungs, in the mist of all the pain. They seem to all describe a specific Virginian he had promised himself to loathe when he looked up their names and meanings. Alstroemeria - wealth, prosperity and fortune. Amaryllis - splendid beauty. Carnation - pride. Daffodil - chivalry. Gladiolus - the strength of character. Orchid - exotic beauty, mature charm. Tiger Lily - Pride. There were so many more, but those were all he could bare knowing. When it was just a few petals, he did research as to what it was. And now, knowing that he's working with full-on flowers, he's perfectly aware he's dying and is going to die soon. The most painful death, of course.  
If the blood and flowers dressing up the room weren't enough, you have Alexander himself. In the corner of the room, sobbing from pain, holding his throat and curled into a ball. Yes, he would describe himself as lacking sensitivity for pain. But this was far more than a gunshot. This was a garden, sprouting in his lungs, forcing him to cough them up. Not only was the coughing painful, but the flowers rising up and out of his throat. It was.. Gruesome. The flowers scraping the inside of his throat was dreadful. Especially now. When it started, when he first met Jefferson, it wasn't so awful. It was just petals. But now it's the entire thing. That, mixed with him knowing perfectly well Jefferson didn't return his feelings? God. It's unimaginable for anybody outside of his scenario. Not only did Jefferson not return his feelings, (at least, that's what he's assuming.) but he has no clue. No fucking clue as to what Alexander is going through. After all, it's rare. What was he, one of the ten people with this illness? He doubted the other even knew what it was. What was causing him so much pain? Why he would have to dart out of a meeting without a second word. He knew nothing, he was ignorant of it all. And that's what pained him.  
So, as Alexander lay curled in the corner, sobbing into his legs, he kept one thought. Why didn't he just get it removed? Ah, many reasons. First off, he welcomed death at this point. Secondly, he didn't want to never feel love again. The love part wasn't what was wrong. He liked playing the dangerous game of making people fall without liking them, or vice versa. Though, he only actually figured out what love was the first day he felt the petal in his lung, the first day he saw the taller Virginian. God, why did it have to be him? Of anybody Alexander knew. They fought, argued, disagreed. They hated each other. Now, this? Fucking hell. Alexander let out another cough, the flower gracefully falling into his hands. He blinked away his tears for a moment to study the colour. A yellow Tulip, hopeless love. The bittersweet love flower. Wow, thanks, body. He didn't know that. Curling up tighter, he was planning to stay like that until he heard a brief knock on the door, the Virginian's voice whom he was thinking about from the other side of the dense wood. It was a shame Alexander couldn't hear what he said. It was also a shame that Alexander couldn't will himself to get up, to clean his mess, to hide his evidence until he hopelessly watched the door open, the taller man coming into sight.


	3. Heaven/Hell AU thing - Jamilton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Character A is an angel and Character B is a demon. However, Character A is mischievous, manipulative, and happily causes harm instead of doing good whereas Character B is kind-hearted, well-meaning, and merciful. Character A approaches Character B one day, thinking the demon to be a like-minded individual, however, Character A is forced to reconsider their own wrong-doings when they begin to develop a soft spot for Character B.

Heaven/Hell AU thing  
Jamilton  
TW: Religion, heaven, hell, demons, angels, god, satan, the seven deadly sins

Alexander knew he was going to hell. He wasn't going to sit there and pretend that he wasn't. He wished he could, in all honesty. He wished he could forget that death was even a thing, and just live life. he wished it didn't loom over his shoulder like a shadow of a man in front of him, him remembering it so much it felt more like a memory than a distant future. But, really, forgetting is far more difficult than remembering. He's lived his entire life with his legacy on his mind, of course he's going to imagine his death. What are people going to think of him when he was gone? It was what motivated him when his father left, when his mother died, when his cousin had taken his own life. He needed to keep working. He needed to build himself up as more than he already was. He needed to give himself a name, a story. He couldn't make himself forgettable.  
Dying and being forgotten was worse than being alive and getting more attention than he wanted.

Honestly, it was impossible for there to be a single deadly sin he hasn't committed. He could list every single deadly sin, every seven of them, and tell you just how he had committed it. Which, he will do. Right now. Lust, wasn't that one obvious? He cheated on his wife with a certain Maria Reynolds, not once, not twice, but multiple times. And with a now existing generation of people, somehow still aware of his name and claim to fame, writing up theories about how he may have slept with his close friend John Laurens, or eventual enemy Aaron Burr? Well, his memory didn't fail him, he knew he hadn't - but even still, their words were so.. Convincing. He found himself believing despite knowing the exact opposite.

Secondly. Gluttony. This one took him a while to conjure, but he was sure he had committed it. It had nothing to do with food, trust him. While he had no specific distaste for eating, or what he ate, he didn't bother eating more than he needed or eating less healthy food. Then again, he didn't really eat healthy food, either. If he ever remembered to eat between work hours, it would be a sort of microwavable meal that would somehow suffice a week-long hunger. No, it wasn't food. It was for a sort of.. Power. He was a glutton for knowledge. And at first thought, saying that didn't convince him enough of how he had committed this sin at all. However, with how he would belittle or fight others simply to gain a hint of knowledge of what their weak spot is? How he would lock himself away from his (mostly, whoops) still living wife and kids, for hours, days, or even months at a time just to crack into books and works that lived longer than him to get a hint of something he couldn't quite grasp? Well, even if he didn't, he was sure that God must have seen that as rude. To say the least. I mean, here he was. In hell. Clearly, he didn't favour the guy.

Third. Greed. And god, was he greedy. He needed gain. It was a sort of craving he had, in a sick reality that he only noticed after he was damned to hell. He needed a group of men to lead in the war. He needed to work in the government, on Washington's right side. He needed to graduate early. He needed to leave Nevis to pursue a better education. He needed to do everything he could and anything he could just to gain. He supposed it tied in with how he, when still alive, was obsessed with his legacy. If he had everything, if he gained everything, then he would be seen as some sort of martyr. And, well, if he thought about it through and through, then that's what caused him to commit all of these sins. Perhaps not Lust, but still.

Fourth. Sloth. This one was God being petty, and he was going to swear by that as long as he was stuck being licked at by medium hot and surprisingly soothing flames. (He had decided that Hell was a lot more chill than he expected it to be.) Just because he didn't have time to get down on his fucking knees every second and pray doesn't mean he didn't believe. He was still faithful. And he wasn't fucking lazy, he wasn't represented by Sloth. He was going to hold this as a grudge against God until the day he died.  
Oh wait.

Fifth. Wrath. Two words, one name. Thomas Jefferson. Honestly, he was surprised he hadn't seen that asshole around. He figured the man would be partying with Hitler. _They shared the same ideals,_ it was easy for him to think, with a bitterness left when he hissed the name. If he hadn't met that Virginian fucker, he wouldn't have committed this sin. ..Well, there's also Adams, and Madison. Burr, and Reynolds. King George, and all of Britain. But like the details of the sin states, it's hate that may provoke feuds that can go on for centuries. And, trust him, it's been a hundred years. He still hated the asshole.

Sixth. Envy. Fuck, he despised this one. And he despised just whom he envied, as well. It was the same asshole who landed him with Wrath. He couldn't help it, the man was brilliant. As stupid as his political views were, the way he _broadcasted_ them. The ideas were idiotic, but he was the more intelligent man Alexander had known. Not only is he the most intelligent, but he's the most laid back, as well. He didn't spit off as soon as soon as somebody questioned him, threatened him, or challenged him. In fact, he smiled. He _laughed_. He brushed it off. And that was ridiculous. Alexander envied him. He envied how the man was so cool, so chill, so.. God, he hated the fact he was rambling about the Virginian.

Seventh. Pride.  
I don't even have to explain.

So, sitting in hell, he decided one thing and one thing only. Well, no. Two things. But one thing for now. He was an asshole. He, Alexander Hamilton, was a bad person. When he was still alive. He deserved being in hell, honestly. He was glad he was here. Because being in here made him decide on the second thing he decided. He needed to _change_.  
So he was going to fucking change.  
He was going to be the purest asshole he could be. The nicest, most kind-hearted, well-meaning, and merciful man in the world. Even as he sat on the top of World Trade Center, his really cool demon wings holding behind his back. Even as he watched all of the people walking, looking like ants to him, where they couldn't even see him since he was invisible. He was going to be the purest, nicest, most innocent damn demon there ever was.

And no man, demon, or even angel was going to change that.


	4. Lyric Text Prank - Lams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a lyric text prank duh

Lyric Text Prank AU  
Lams  
(I wrote this a million years ago leave me alone)  
Alexander Hamilton was nonstop. He knew this. He also knew almost everybody else in his life knew this. He never stopped working, despite possible health issues or exhaustion creeping into his bones. He never took a break. He didn't even think about drinking anything over than a cup of black coffee, or eating something more than a one minute reheat of leftover ramen. he didn't have the time. All of his time, in his life, was focused on his work, and how he did on it. How much he wrote, how well he wrote, how many problems or issues presented themselves in his work. He was his work, his work was his life. Simple. Of course, that led to.. Issues. He didn't have any suspicions of who decided that cutting his work off for the time being and letting him have a weekend off was a good idea. He knew that his hobbies may have been worrying, he wasn't completely ignorant. However, when he's provided nothing to do, nothing to put his time and effort into, plus being given a free weekend of time to himself, there was nothing for him to do. As brilliant as his mind may or may not be, he was never even decent at imagining a way to waste his time other than pushing himself to stress-induced fevers. Which, led him to where he was now. Three in the morning, sitting in the middle of his couch, with a half-empty cup of black coffee in one hand and his phone in the other. He allowed himself some time to rethink what exactly he was about to do, what the fuck compelled him to text his best friend lyrics to a fucking song just to satisfy his own crippling boredom. Could he have messaged literally anybody else? Yes. Could he have found some other way of entertaining himself, instead of acting like a teenager annoying his friend? Probably. Could he have done this at a different time? Yep. Finally, could he, and should he, choose a new song? Oh, of course. Though, Hamilton never really thought about what he was doing before he did it. It wasn't a common action on his part. He acted without thought, and only days after the action, did he notice the fault in that decision. So, with another sip of his coffee, eyebrows furrowing slightly when the bitterness hit his tongue, he typed the first lyric to the song that had been stuck in his head for hours, sending it to the Carolinian before he could provide himself enough time to backtrack.

'> I have a question.'


	5. Highschool Debate Club AU - Jamilton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Highschool Debate Club AU - Jamilton

Highschool debate club AU  
Jamilton  
I also wrote this one a million years ago

Alexander wasn't awfully fond of school. Well, backtrack. Alexander hated school. You see, he loved the concept of it. Taking time to learn and expand what you already know, attempting to learn about everything you see. Alexander always wanted to know everything. it was an undying quench for knowledge. Though, there were multiple downfalls. One, the fact it was a High School. It was hard to concentrate on anything academic related when there's a ton of asshats running around, picking on people or just being idiotic in general. That was the thing he didn't like. How you had to be social. He would rather just be given books and be taken home, where he can teach himself. But, no. He had to be put in a small room with everybody else his age, attempting to concentrate on god knows what he's learning, almost always being ahead of the rest of the class when it comes to how quickly they understand shit. He hated it. Besides, because most of his peers were pain idiots, he always fought and argued with them. Who wouldn't? When they're spreading lies and dumb, uneducated opinions, it's difficult to not put them in their place. Which is probably why his name was the first on the list for the debate club. It was big, bold, and in a deep green pen. His handwriting was large, though rather formal for his age, being a fancy slanted cursive. He always belittled himself for his awful handwriting. Whatever. It didn't take long for tryouts to happen, and for him to find out that he had made it in. Which, he didn't really celebrate. He was happy for it, of course, but it would take more time off from his other school activities. STEM, Gifted, Makers Challenge- he was in many other different clubs, and he would have difficulty balancing them out. Whatever.  
There was one downside of debate, though. It was where he met and constantly bickered, with Thomas Jefferson. Y'all already know where this is going, must I be in detail? They hated one another. Thomas was always wrong in Alexander's eyes, Alexander was always wrong in Thomas's eyes. Once again, let me repeat. They loathed each other. Everyone in the school knew that those two couldn't stand each other. They were two of the best High School debaters in the whole country, though, as both of them had made it to tons of events and competitions each year. Yet they always seemed neck and neck, every time one would win, the next time the other one would. It was a constant competition between the two. Alexander never faced as much as a challenge as Jefferson, but even then, he saw himself as better. Because he's kinda a cocky ass.  
Time skip to current day.  
Alexander stood up at the podium at the front of the classroom, clearly fuming as Thomas took his time to speak. Clearly, he didn't even take debate seriously. It was upsetting if he were to be honest. Alexander had a fucking binder for this, and Thomas was just bullshitting. As he watched Thomas with his stupid Virginian accept and dropping smirk, Alexander found that he couldn't seem to take his eyes off of him. That was happening a lot lately, and he didn't like it. In fact, he despised it almost as much as he despised Thomas. Alexander doubted that Thomas didn't notice. It was obvious, with Alexander's red face and his seeming lack of words for the situation. God, why was he just /now/ like this? He forced his eyes away as Thomas finished speaking. "And finally, that's why I think Puerto Rico shouldn't be added to the USA as the fifty-first state." Thomas finished, That godforsaken smirk still plastered on his lips. Did I mention already that Alexander despised him? Alexander opened his mouth to speak, quite ready to fire back and insult Thomas's argument, but was interrupted by professor Washington, their shared teacher when it came to debating. Yes, the one he was teased for apparently sucking up to. Which, he didn't see. "Pardon the intrusion, but I had lost track of time. It's already six, and the buses are soon to depart. We will continue this argument tomorrow, with Alexander feeding his response." And with that, Washington and all other students in the class began to pack up, filling out. While Alexander and Thomas were stuck there, Alexander giving off an exasperated sigh and beginning to pack up his own notes.


	6. Prison AU - Jamilton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prison AU - Jamilton
> 
> (also i totally stole the idea from my friend Sophia's OITNB au starter so,,,, hey soph ily bb)

Prison AU  
Jamilton

Alexander hadn't even been in this prison for a day and he was pretty much already despising it. Of course, there wasn't much to despise just yet. Mostly the body shuddering cavity search that he had been so thoughtfully forced through, one that left him feeling exposed and dirty and yet, not as disgusted as he thought he would. Also, perhaps scanning the walls and ceiling and floor as he walked to his cell, his new home, noting just how.. Not up to par the cleanliness was. How the ceilings had cobwebs almost meticulously hung around any nook and corner, the floor with dust and what seemed like dirt that was newly trecked around, the walls hardly even a white he knew they must have once been - instead, a yellowish hue.

He doubted that any wall was supposed to be that colour unless somebody actually painted them that way - which, was impossible, at least in his own mind. Who would want that colour? The spokesperson of disgusting colours? 

He wasn't saying he was above the prison, not at all. He deserved to be here. If he were to break the law, and get caught doing so, he was going to have to face time. It didn't matter how he felt about living four years in prison, whether he wanted to or not, and he supposed that was what was bittersweet about the situation. He could easily have felt better about himself for not bothering to shy away from the sentence, or act like he didn't do it - instead admitting to the issue and leaving with authorities with compliance - but then again, that was a waste of time. Parading himself around like he was the greatest person in the fucking prison would probably get him in more trouble than he would like to bother with, and maybe, for once, that wasn't what he wanted to do. It would be best to simply lay low, right?

Well, even with that mindset, there was always a piece of him in the back of his mind that knew he wouldn't bother, not even from the start - and that piece of him knew him better than the rest of his mind did. Alexander Hamilton? Not make a mess of himself? It was unheard of.

No matter what he had previously thought about himself, how high or low he thought he was compared to others or even in the dark of night as he lay in bed thinking, he was still in prison. He was still being directed towards his soon-to-be cell with his soon-to-be cell mate already in it, with a pile of fabrics in his arms that he never bothered to look through and a hoodie too thin for his likings on his back. He was in a group with three others, who looked just as unbothered as he did, them actually joking around with the ease of an innocent conscious. He had learned their names and nationalities a few minutes ago. He hadn't bothered to remember. 

His last name and new cell number had rung in his ears as soon as the well-built guard had spilt them, and he jumped slightly, having been too in his own mind to pay attention to anything other than himself. He gave a slight nod, and a quiet, breathless laugh at himself - for once, he was thinking inside his own mind instead of spilling all of his thoughts out loud. He'd been told by one too many how that was a near impossibility, and seeing it here now, was bitterly funny to him. 

He gave another nod, and cleared his throat, before padding into his cell, already more focused on setting his items down than studying his cell mate. There was a large portion of him worrying about how, exactly, he should go through with an introduction - just a simple hello? A compliment? Something less innocence? Is he supposed to lack politeness to be taken seriously? - but he reasoned with himself that he would actually have to look at the male to have an introduction at all. So, he turned around to look at him, hardly taking a second before speaking.

He was taller than Alexander, standing at a height that had obviously started with a six, with black, wild curls atop his head that seemed to frame his face decently enough. He had facial hair - well trimmed, Alexander thought, he hadn't expected anybody to look even remotely kept up in a place like this -, that also didn't look entirely awful on him, paired with deep brown eyes and what seemed to be a smile, if Alexander didn't know any better. He was dark skinned, and had an athletic build, and a part of Alexander knew that if he were to say the wrong thing, the man in front of him could probably chuck him across the prison without as much as breaking a sweat.

Alexander wasn't sure if he was worried about that or not.

After deciding two seconds was far too long to be studying someone, he had managed a step closer to the male - nothing to break boundaries, he reasoned, just enough for a handshake and nothing else -, holding out his hand and managing the same bright smile that had wooed his wife out of this hell hole. He didn't know what to say, but that had never stopped him from speaking before, so he settled with a usual -   
"It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Alexander Hamilton. I was told I'd be staying here."


	7. Jamilton - Another Highschool AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamilton  
> Highschool AU  
> (Bully X Bullied)

Jamilton  
Highschool AU  
(Bully X Bullied)

"Ｉ＇ｄ　ｐｒｏｂａｂｌｙ　ｓｔｉｌｌ　ａｄｏｒｅ　ｙｏｕ　ｗｉｔｈ　ｙｏｕｒ　ｈａｎｄｓ　ａｒｏｕｎｄ　ｍｙ　ｎｅｃｋ．　Ｏｒ　Ｉ　ｄｉｄ　ｌａｓｔ　ｔｉｍｅ　Ｉ　ｃｈｅｃｋｅｄ．" 

Alexander wasn't awfully fond of school. Well, backtrack. Alexander hated school. You see, he loved the concept of it. Taking time to learn and expand what you already know, attempting to learn about everything you see. Alexander always wanted to know everything. it was an undying quench for knowledge. Though, there were multiple downfalls. One, the fact it was a High School. It was hard to concentrate on anything academic related when there's a ton of asshats running around, picking on people or just being idiotic in general. That was the thing he didn't like. How you had to be social. He would rather just be given books and be taken home, where he can teach himself. But, no. He had to be put in a small room with everybody else his age, attempting to concentrate on god knows what he's learning, almost always being ahead of the rest of the class when it comes to how quickly they understand shit. He hated it. Besides, because most of his peers were plain idiots, he always fought and argued with them. Who wouldn't? When they're spreading lies and dumb, uneducated opinions, it's difficult to not put them in their place. The biggest offender when it came to this problem? Thomas Jefferson. 

As assumed, he was the most popular kid in school, and there wasn't a wonder why. Everybody loved him. Why didn't Alexander? After all, he made everybody swoon. It’s not Alexander's fault. Though there were probably more delicate ways to handle their first situation, it’s obviously Jefferson’s. With his perfectly tailored suits and expensive cologne, letting everybody know that he’s better in literally every way. It’s his haughty tone of voice, his withering stares that never fail to set Alexander off. That, and the fact that he’s actually, frustratingly, undeniably attractive. From his fine, dark curls that frame his face just right, down to the arrogant smirk that pulls at his full lips. He’s gorgeous, and it’s irritating beyond imagination. Well, Alexander wouldn't be able to speak a word with full confidence, or without a lie, if he were to say he wasn't in love with the Virginian. He would also be lying if he were to say to didn't hate him. 

It was a confusing feeling, all on all. Alexander despised the man, hated how he could easily make Alexander flush, fluster, or cry. He has power over Alexander, and Alexander hated it. He hated how the taller would pick on him, rather it be a fake flirt or an insult tossed his way. Hated the red he knew was covering his face when Thomas spoke to him, the loss of breath when there was any sort of contact, the flames of head engulfing him when there was too little distance between them. He hated the man, and he hated how he made Alexander feel. Which, is probably why he had made it a habit to quicken his pace whenever in the hallways, or at his lockers. He was not about to be caught waiting for eventual trouble. Which, leads us to where we are now. Alexander, struggling to get his bookbag out of his locker. He silently cursed himself on his sudden lack of speed today, practically having to bend backwards just to pull the bag from the metal box, when he saw Jefferson approaching him.


	8. Failed Date AU - Hamburr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "your friend set you up on a blind date and i happened to be eating alone so you thought you were meeting me and you were cute so i went along with it but you just got a text from said friend that they’re sorry your date stood you up and now i have some explaining to do" by lolymie

Failed date Au  
Hamburr

 

Alexander didn't know what the hell was wrong with him.

Surely, there had to be _something_ if he was unable to find so much as a date. Maybe he was just unattractive. Too eager to express thoughts, maybe too loud. Was it his voice? That would be less than ideal, seeing as though talking seemed to always be one of his passions. Was that it Was he too passionate? Or was it something he was oblivious to? Dear god, was it _because_ he was oblivious?

He wasn't blind. He had mirrors, he knew what he looked like. He knew what he sounded like, as well, from multiple clips of him speaking for hours on end being played for him in a sort of teasing manner, as if whoever playing it (usually Jefferson) thought that Alexander _didn't_ know how much he talked. Well, he did. He didn't think his voice was terrible. It wasn't awfully high pitched, but it wasn't terribly low, either. Maybe when frustrated, it would gather a sort of keen whine, but there was no way he would be frustrated, common enough, in a relationship, for somebody to not want to be with him.  
As for his appearance, he didn't think he was flat out ugly. A little thin, sure, and seemingly exhausted from the workspace he gathered himself into, but not awful. It wasn't like he looked like a zombie. He still looked alive. And hell, if he weren't himself, he would swear that he would swoon from his own smile.

Maybe that's it. Maybe he's too cocky.

But, still, that didn't explain why dates are so _hard_ for him. Not hard to find, he'd assure you. He's been on many. He's been set up, approached by strangers, written out. He can find the people, just not the right people.  
He's been on nine dates this month, and it had just started.   
The first one was with a guy named Francis, that one of his friends had set him up with. It started off well enough; he was nice, smart, good-looking, and they shared some common interests. It could have maybe worked out, but Alexander decided not to call him back after deciding he had mentioned his ex ‘Mildred’ one too many times and he clearly still wasn’t over him and actually ready to date. Besides, good looks couldn't supply everything when he hardly provided Alexander with a challenge of intellect.

A lot of his dates went that way. They were either not over their ex, weren't compatible with Alex, or weren't compatible.. At all. With anybody. And, of course, Alexander assumed he was being too harsh on them. He knew he was difficult to get along with, sure. But he had friends, and if he could make friends, he could get a boyfriend, right? I mean, a boyfriend is just a more affectionate friend, in some ways. 

Maybe Alexander was being too harsh on _himself_. Maybe it wasn't his fault. Maybe it was just the fact that everybody he seemed to get with thus far had no sort of spark of life in their eyes, at all. Then again, if that was the issue, then why would the friends who put him on these blind dates pair him up with people he would end up rather dying than speaking to? He was sure his group knew him well enough, -they met drunk, there was no way that Alexander didn't give them some sort of personal detail on the first day sometime or another-, so why would they pair him with these sort of people?

Honestly, maybe he was impatient, and maybe that was the issue, but he was starting to lose hope. He swore he would give up on dating altogether, or at least blind dates set up by his friends, even as he stared at himself in the mirror, slipping on a sweatshirt that was far too big on him. God, what was he _doing_? Everything about this seemed like the wrong idea, and he just knew it would end awfully. First off, like most others, it was a blind date. Set up by a friend. Angelica, no less, who shares the almost exact same amount of brilliance and energy as he did, but still. Second of all, it was at a _bar_. No first dates at a bar go well. Not even if it was a rather well off one, with soft lights instead of bright fluorescents, and an outside seating where you can listen to the muffled music from inside while taking a seat in the cool, early night air.

He hesitated on leaving his house, still staring at himself in the mirror. He was starting to regret the outfit before he even had time to do so. Maybe yellow really wasn't his colour. Sure, he was told to take risks by a certain freckled friend, but he knew he looked good in green, so why didn't he just dress in green? He doubted that first dates, whether they were going to go farther than the one night or not, were the time to change up your style.   
Maybe the shorts weren't the best option, either. It wasn't like he hated his legs, but he wasn't in love with them either, and there was always a possibility of whoever he was meeting finding them too chubby for their taste. Maybe he should settle on some black ones, instead of the jean blue, so they would attract less attention. Is that what the colour black does? God, he didn't know.

Maybe whoever he was seeing didn't like guys in traditionally feminine outfits. That was always a possibility. He should have just stuck to his masculinity, even though it was hardly existent in the first place. He could have played pretend, though, right? Maybe his date didn't like overly masculine men. Maybe they would prefer somewhere in the middle. God, he didn't _know_. And it was impossible to know. All he knew was that, maybe, he wasn't the man of his date's dreams. That was always a possibility.  
You know what? Fuck it. Give him two minutes, and he'd be five minutes late. He tucked his sweater into his shorts, grabbing a white bag and forcing his wallet, pen and paper into it, before leaving the house, quickly calling an uber since, hell, he didn't know how this night would go, and if he would be in the best place to drive his own car home in the end.

When he got to the bar, he scanned the outside, where Angelica had mentioned he would be seated. The area was full of couples, or groups of people, two people at a seating being the minimum. Despite that, it was rather quiet, a nice change from the busied and loud other attractions he would often be taken out to. Of course, the volume level wasn't the issue. It was the fact that he couldn't, for the life of him, spot a person sitting alone. Which means one of three things. Either one, this was some cruel joke settled on by the Schyulers to get back at him for breaking up with Eliza, two, he had been stood up by whoever he was coming to meet, or three, it was a sort of group date, despite how much he would constantly swear that he despised those.  
God, he may be a bit of a slut, but he's not poly. -Not that there was anything wrong with that, he would swear, when being given judging stares. It simply wasn't his cup of coffee.-

Well, it turned out to be option number four. His patience was thin as it's always been, and he simply didn't see the man seated by a table next to the railing determining where the end of the patio seating was. And even where Alexander stood now, studying the man from his stumble of getting out of his Uber, he was _very_ much Alexander's type. He didn't know why, but it was something about them. As eloquent with words as he is, he couldn't place it. Well, he processed it, making his way to the table, gorgeous was his type. And this man was gorgeous. Simple as that.

When he finally got to the table, the man's appearance was more obvious, even with the lights being dimmed from just how far away he was from them. His skin was a lovely, dark shade, A sepia shade that glowed golden with the soft lights coming from Alexander's left. His eyes were the same shade but darker, more of a passive umber than anything else, with a sort of silenced brilliance that Alexander hadn't remembered ever seeing in a man. He wasn't wearing a smile, more of a content look than anything else, but it looked good on him anyway, a slightly reddish hue broadcasted on his face from what Alexander assumed was from the slight breeze coming through. He was.. Calm. And collected. If Alexander were to be able to get a read of his personality then and there, he would say that he wasn't too dead set on talking, but it.. Worked with him. It was difficult to explain. This _man_, in himself, was difficult to explain Then again, to be able to explain him, Alexander would probably need to speak to him, first.

So, that's what he did. Introductions have never been the most difficult part of his life, him having always been rather good at them on the contrary. He was often told, by friends and lovers alike, just how capable his smile and eyes were. -If he wanted to, he could turn that into another rant on why, exactly, he didn't understand why dates tended to flop so horribly, but he couldn't be bothered, far too interested in the man in front of him and getting to know his name, at least-. So, with the same alluring smile he was taught that makes men and women alike swoon, and the same bright eyes that a freckled friend once described as moons in their own, Alexander finally spoke, him resisting the urge to dash his hand out in invitation of a shake. He assumed it wasn't what you were supposed to do. This was a first date, not a business meeting.

"Hey, I’m Alexander Hamilton. Nice to meet you."


	9. Internet Friends AU - Lams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Character A and Character B have been online friends for years, however they’ve always been separated by distance. Character A suddenly tells Character B that they’re going to be going to be coming to their town on a trip and they want to meet up. Character B panics because they’ve been keeping a big secret from Character A all these years. Can they hide it? Will their friendship survive the reveal?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: No, I'm not glorifying self harm or depression! Honestly, writing about it and providing my characters with these issues helps me with my own. I would never romanticise these issues, especially considering the battle I've had with them on my own, and I really hope nobody sees this as me doing that. （；＿；）

Internet Friends AU  
Lams  
TW: Depression, self harm, mentions of therapist and medication

 

Alexander had met a specific John Laurens on Twitter, where his existence was most common, somewhere in his Direct Messages with a mention to his newest article of writing.  
It was about the modern economy, he remembered, and just how bad it was. He pointed out every flaw and fault in the system, how, given five years, it'll end up breaking down and sending America into discord. It touched on the newest presidency and made a reference to the past government systems, and honestly, reading the post now, Alexander couldn't understand it for the life of him. It was spiralling out of control, like he wrote it in a frenzy at three in the morning and published it without at least a revision, and honestly, he was surprised it got so many likes or retweets.

Then again, most of his posts are like that, in all honesty. They're focused on one subject and end up spiralling into another, his grammar and punctuation perfect at the start until he grew too frantic and hurried to get his words out there that he gave up on perfection, and instead wrote like he was running out of time and didn't even have a second to go back and correct the spelling for 'floccinaucinihilipilification'. Not like anybody would notice, anyway. Nobody really seemed to mind, anyway. His fanbase certainly didn't - especially not when his follower count was rivalling Britney Spears'.  
He didn't get as many messages as his friends thought he would. Angelica was surprised, especially. - "I would have, at least, expected hate comments." Her expectations were wrong, even to Alexander's surprise.

It was mostly comments, questions. What did he think about this article? What sources would be best suited for information? Or, they would be more specified to what he wrote - What did he think about federal spending? How the majority goes to the military, the least amount going to food and agriculture? What did he think about wages and levels of pay?  
He never had time to respond to everybody, that would be ludicrous. But after a morning of posting, most of his replies or Direct Messages having simmered down by the end of the day, reading exactly who messaged him what when he was laying in bed at three in the morning helped him fall asleep - something that was painfully difficult for him to do.

That was how he had met John Laurens. He was at the top of his list of DMs, which meant he must have had been recent. When Alexander checked what time the man messaged him, he was correct. Thirty minutes ago. The message was stupidly simple, and had almost nothing to do with the contents of his writing, or him, in general:  
'> U do know that, after 10 lines, nothing you wrote makes sense, right'  
The message gave him a quiet chuckle. Yes, of course he knew that. But this was the first time anybody else had noticed, or bothered to point it out. Of course, there was a sort of voice in the back of his mind telling him that he should be upset by this, that because it didn't make sense, nobody would like his writings or continue to follow him, but he couldn't be bothered to focus on that thought.  
This man, who went by the username 'TurtleCrisp', did what no other man, in real life or online, could ever do.

' I tend to think about that a lot, actually.'  
'> At least youre aware'  
' So, do you have a name, or am I going to have to refer to you as 'TurtleCrisp' all the time? Because that's ridiculous.'  
'> Ill spill as soon as im told what the A for 'A.Ham' is for.'  
' Alexander Hamilton.'  
'> John laurens.'

That's how it started. Alexander wasn't sure what compelled him to actually speak to this man - perhaps it was the fact that he was hardly asking to be spoken to-, but getting to know him, he didn't regret it whatsoever. And, really, he was surprised how quickly things escalated. Give them two weeks and they were face timing for hours every day; even when Alexander remains typing furiously and John is nothing but quiet snores on the other line. Two months, and they were sending birthday presents to eachother.  
(It was like a competition, honestly. On Alexander's twenty-fifth birthday, he received a quill and ink pot that's been on his wishlist for eons, with the note 'here u dork - John' on top, inside the box. Alexander retaliated, and when it was John's birthday, him turning twenty-six - he would joke on how he was older all the time - Alexander sent him a three hundred dollar PetSmart gift card, with the note 'To fuel your stupid obsession with turtles - Alex'.)

(He was being face timed two hours after it said the package had landed. He was greeted with John, who had a turtle in his hair and one on his shoulder. He swore he was having a heart attack.)

They had known each other for, four years online, tomorrow marking the fifth year. Tomorrow, marking the day John flies to New York, and they finally meet in real life, instead of having one in New York and one in South Carolina.  
Tomorrow, Alexander is completely and utterly fucked, and exposed, when it comes to promises he had made and yet to keep, and secrets that he was supposed to not have anymore.

John had figured out during a face-time. Alexander was completely thrown off when receiving a call at three in the morning, when going through an episode and attempting to muffle his sobs so that his neighbours wouldn't hear through the thin walls and file a noise complaint. He jumped when he heard the phone go off, staring at it for a few moments, and blinking. He sniffled, rubbing at his cheeks and eyes with his sleeve until it burnt and felt like he was rubbing his skin off, before answering.  
His room was dark from him not bothering to turn on any lights, not caring enough, but there was enough light coming through the blinds and coming from the phone for John to notice his red face, puffy eyes, and the fault in his bright smile.

It only took him one question for Alexander to break down and admit.

John's been on his tail from that point. Making him promise to eat, shower, pay bills, go to work, seek help. One of the biggest promises he was forced into was a refrain from hurting himself, which Alexander seemed to struggle with the most. He was tipped to write on himself, instead.  
He didn't have enough ink in his newly bought sharpie to stop the urges.  
But it didn't matter, because it was too late, and now he was having to dress for summer weather and still seem slightly decent, seeing as though this was their first fucking meeting. He remembered asking what he should wear.  
"Alex, it doesn't matter. It's not like this is my first time seeing you. Just.. The first in real life."  
"But I wanna look good for you, daddy~."  
"Oh my god-"  
He continued swearing it didn't matter.  
It did.

He settled on green. He always looked good in green.  
He left his hair down. "Honestly, I prefer it down. It's like.. Ribbons. It's beautiful."  
He wrapped his arms.  
He got his sign.  
And, he left.

He went to the airport in an Uber, wanting more time to actually look at the freckled man and speak to him instead of having to focus on the road ahead of him. He wanted to give the man as much attention as he possibly could.  
He couldn't help but anxiously fidget with his clothing while he waited to get there, pulling at his sleeves so they were less wrinkled, moving his shorts down farther on his legs so he wasn't as exposed. Fidgeting with the ends of his bandaging, before pressing it down to his skin again. It was on both arms, but he couldn't much worry about that when he was about to see John Laurens, and in person.

Finally, they got there. And Alexander doubted he could have been more excited for anything in his life. It was strange, the fact that one person in his life and one person only - one thing - could get his interest, nowadays. Could get him to express something other than fatigue, sadness, frustration. And, really, he owed his life to this man.  
Pushing through crowds of people to get to the front, knowing fully well that he was nowhere near tall enough to stand in the back and hope to be seen, he raised his sign in the air high above his head, bright eyes frantically searching for any freckled man he could find and his lips curled up into a hopeless smile.


	10. Freckles AU - Jamilton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (I know I have a lot of Jamilton ones but this one was a request so hhhh im sorry)  
> (plus i didnt know who else to do for this AU!!!!! im sorry!!!!!!)

Freckles AU  
Jamilton, Jefferson needed

 

Alexander had taken his time to decide that he would never hold a favourite colour that could be labelled as pastel, or light. Relating to this, he despised all pinks, purples, and blues, and pointedly cringed whenever he saw one of those three.

Of course he would learn to despise these colours, though. He could blame his stupid heart, the decisions it had decided to make without consulting his mind. He could blame it on the people he had fallen for, despite not wanting to or not being supposed to. He could blame his obvious physical attraction to whoever that might be.  
Whoever is reading this is likely highly confused. I'll allow a moment to explain.

There's a rather unfortunate circumstance that comes with liking or loving people in this world that Alexander Hamilton found himself smack dab in the middle of, and that unfortunate circumstance happened to be freckles. They vary in size, colour, saturation and darkness, although the only choices they have are between pinks, blues, and purples. It doesn't matter how much you like that person, whomever you like, you get a dot riddling your skin like an unwanted parasite carried in a dog. Often times, Alexander's body will notice his feelings before he does - he'll receive a pink freckle on the side of his arm and only afterwards notice just how lovely that stranger standing on the bus two feet away from him is.

As much as he hated these specks - the reason soon to be explained - he still studied them. They were on his body, for Christ's sake, he was going to pay attention to them. This is what he managed to gather. If it was a small crush, perhaps him admiring somebody who he will never see again and just how nice she looks in that red dress, the dot would be a shade of pink. So an offhanded emotion, he supposed. Why would it warrant a colour? That one he wasn't sure about. But he had plenty of pink specks covering his skin, these mostly on his chest, so he had plenty of instances to notice this.

Then, was a light blue. He wasn't terribly sure what to call this one. It wasn't as small as the previously mentioned crush, but it's not so big that he would stay up all night thinking about the person; perhaps a few hours more than usual. This was almost as common as the pink, mostly showed on his face; cheeks, bridge of nose, temple, forehead. They went side by side with a light, pastel purple, which held the quality of him thinking about somebody all night, a larger crush that he saved for somebody who he at least saw once every week. Those went on his face, as well, and sometimes on the side of his torso.

Then, was a deep blue. The first colour that Alexander would have to have to be in a relationship with somebody. It was a sort of promise; his body knew who he liked before he did, so why shouldn't he listen to it? - he could only date people if they were dark blue or a different, darker shade. He knew he didn't love these people, but still held the question of, if he did, would he spend the rest of his life with them? This colour wasn't rare, but it was less common than the other three, saved for his arms.

Now, was a purple between light and dark. It was nowhere as light as the previous purple, but also nowhere as dark as the next one to touch on, and he wasn't sure how to describe it. This was the colour held for when he had no clue whether he loved this person or not. Once upon a time, he thought bitterly of why his body couldn't just tell him instead of pointing out the fact he didn't know. Thinking that didn't do him any justice, of course, so he gave up on it and attempted to avoid the colour.  
He never could.  
These were most found on his chest.

Finally, a dark purple. For when he actually fell in love with a person. Not a silly crush, not a strong admiration. But actual love. There wasn't much more he could use to explain it. It didn't have to be romantic, either. It could be family love, of course. He used to have around six of these dark purple marks, all of them scattered over his face.  
They all turned black.  
Whenever somebody with a mark dies, their mark turns black.

Now, why did Alexander hate these marks to the soul of his being? Good question. Why, the truth was, he hated them because of how many he had, how often he'd get them. He knew he was a hopeless romantic, of course, falling for everything and anything and everyone, but he didn't need his body to prove it to him. At this point, he didn't know if he was Latino or if he was some sort of specked monster.  
Every day, he got more. Mostly pinks or light blues, but even still. It was annoying. Plus, he was tired of watching those rare purple colours turn jet black every single time he got one. He was never able to have one of those colours without them turning.

This caused an attempt of change in his lifestyle, of course. Instead of taking the bus, he began driving to work. But then, he would see strangers on the sidewalk or in cars next to his own, and he would gain a freckle. He tried to dress edgier, hoping that people would be more hesitant to speak to him. However, there was always that one person who ignored the black clothing and instead opted for his bright smile, marking their way on his body. It was tiring. It was exhausting, and annoying, and frustrating. And he hated it.

You get it now?

Work, at first, was hard. There was about three people who marked their way on Alexander's cheeks as a dark purple before he had even gotten their first name in check, and working around them after they, themselves, had seen it show up, was perhaps the worst and most awkward thing to have to do. It eventually grew easier, though, with hardly anybody knew coming into their firm.  
Until.  
There was word around the workspace of a specific Thomas Jefferson coming back from France, a person Alexander had never heard of before, and he wanted to slam his head over his desk repeatedly. Yes, of course, this was a selfish want, and a selfish thing to be upset by. He should instead be happy for their firm in getting a new worker, and be happy for 'Thomas Jefferson' that he managed to already get the role of Secretary of State.

He just couldn't be. Not when he knew what the hell was soon to come with this information.

He had to leave with Washington to meet the man. Apparently, nobody else in the office could be bothered. And, on first sight of him, though all of the crowds of people in front of him, he had a few realizations.  
One. This man was tall as hell.  
Two. This man was dark skinned.  
Three. This man was clear skinned. He had no freckles. Whatsoever.  
Four. Now in front of the man, and extending his hand to shake, Alexander felt a new speck form on his face, under his right eye. He didn't know what colour it was, and wouldn't know until he got hold of a mirror.  
(It was dark purple. So dark, it could be black.)  
Five. Thomas Jefferson had seen the freckle pop up as soon as Alexander laid eyes on the man.

Alexander forced his hand out to shake, a shabby, rather tired smile playing on his lips. He knew, and he knew the man now knew, that he either already or was going to hold feelings for him.  
It was only a matter of time until that realization caused the world to burn around them.  
And, realistically, he didn't know what to expect of the other male's reaction. But, the corner of his mind convinced him of a soon-to-be black freckle when he parted his lips to spit out some sort of introduction that seemed to desperately grasp onto formality;  
"Mr. Jefferson, Alexander Hamilton."


	11. Highschool AU - Lams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Highschool AU  
> Lams, Laurens needed  
> []This is honestly such a mess LMAO I'll rewrite someday[]

Highschool AU  
Lams, Laurens needed

 

Highschool Hamilton was nothing of the whore that adult Hamilton was, that's for sure.

He could say, in another life, that highschool is everybody's worst times and that he wasn't the only dweebie kid, but he'd be wrong. He /was/ the only dweebie kid. He could assure anybody asking that he was the only one who'd be found with Gucci bags under his eyes, messy and oily hair tied up into a messy ponytail behind his head. He would be the only one wearing a size XXL mens sweater when he was still able to dress in the kids section - or extra smalls in the mens -, the fabric covering his shorts that were only one size too large for him. He was the only one with a heavy backpack shoved onto his back, more than fifteen textbooks haphazardly shoved in, random pencils, pens, or papers falling out with a new step he took.  
He was a fucking mess.

He would look around at everybody else he passed in the halls, and notice just /how/ put together they were. The girls, with their black heels clicking on freshly cleaned tiles, a red tube top and black, knee-length skirt covering them and their hair pulled into a braid. The boys, with the black ripped jeans and a shirt you couldn't see because of the letterman's jacket covering it, converse hightops playing on their feet and their laughter echoed through the hall. They had lives, other than academics. They had more than one friend, they had /groups/. Groups, where they fit in and made friends.  
Alexander didn't have that.

Instead, he was jostled around in the hall, hardly noticed, not even being allowed something so decent as an off-handed apology. He was 'accidentally' hit with balls of paper in class, that had 'stupid immigrant' written on the inside if it were to be uncrumpled, or laughed at when it was his turn to present a project he's been working all day and night for.

Of course, it wasn't terribly bad. He had /one/ friend. One, plural, by the name of John Laurens, who had been the first person to introduce himself when Alexander arrived to New York. Alexander wasn't great at telling what was popularity and what wasn't, but he seemed to have a lot of other friends, and a lot of people constantly trying to have sex with him, and he assumed the slightly taller male was at /least/ well known.

They were pretty close, sure; as close as Alexander allowed them to get. Which, as much as he loved to lie to himself and admit that he kept good walls up and didn't become close to people easily, they were pretty damn close. Alexander was sure, that if he ever had a personal problem somehow gained through his stupid, miserable highschool life, he would come to that male.  
Which led him to where he was now.  
Sitting at a park, on some abandoned swing set, staring down at his phone.

Now, let's get back to the first sentence of this starter. Alexander was, by no means, a whore. In fact, I'm sure you'd be surprised to hear it, but he was the opposite. He would never admit it to anybody - not /even/ Laurens, except for now - but the closest to contact he's had with somebody was a hug. Never kissed, never.. 'Made out', never made love or had sex or fucked. It was pathetic, just how much of himself he had managed to save; all of it. Keeping virginity of everything was usually saved for some wack Christian girl, and he didn't even practice religion.  
Nevertheless.

He may or may not have gotten a.. Crush.. On somebody. This, as well as kissing, was a first for him. However, he couldn't help it. The way the male walked around like he owned everything, like a spoiled brat, but still had a stupid charming smile on his lips and was still nice to everybody he met astounded Alexander.  
However, he never saw that person in actual /relationships/. Well- no, that wasn't true. He'd see one too many a girl flirting with him, whispering in his ear, grinding against him, only to be led away into some closet or empty classroom of sorts.  
Alexander wanted that. He wanted that, with him. But he didn't know what the fuck he was doing.

He shivered slightly when the cold breeze of winter bit at his exposed legs, him sticking his tongue out for a snowflake to land on it. Yes, it was snowing, and yes, there was already an inch of snow on the ground. Even still, he swung idly, his shivering thumb hesitating about the text button.  
Once mentioned before, he only had one friend, whom he was quite familiar with. And, who was familiar with.. Whatever Alexander could call those acts. Sinful sounded stupid, but loving sounded cheesy. So.. Kissing. A friend who was familiar with kissing. Kissing, and flirting, and whispering, and everything else.  
Sucking up his pride, he buried his face in the scarf that wrapped around his neck, closing his eyes as he pressed the 'send' button.

[To: Freckles and Constellations ]  
[Message:]  
'> Can you meet me at the park on fifth street? I need your help with something.'


	12. Storm AU - Any

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> []im sorry this is so short! hhh-[]  
> []this doesnt have a specific ship, because it can be any character, but it has to be male[]

Storm AU  
Any

[]setting - New York City, during a February snowstorm[]

In the middle of New York city, a place he couldn't quite list the name off of from the top of his head beyond that title, Alexander Hamilton hurried along the current of people around him, going unnoticed in the crowd of what could have been millions if he lacked any better knowledge. He ignored the bustling flurry of falling snow fogging his vision, and ignored the steam letting out with every one of his breaths, instead focusing on the road in front of him.

His arms were currently carrying nine books shoved ungracefully one on top of the other, a stack almost tall enough to block his field of vision, with three threatening to fall off and tumble to the dirty, gravel-covered ground to be (likely) never found again. Along with the books was a stack of six partially crumpled papers tucked snug between his arm and body, also threatening to fall and flutter in the face of the man behind him. His wrist ached with the weight of all the items, the area being covered with a black brace that was wrapped flush against his skin, undoubtedly to help with carpal tunnel.

Alexander's glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, him having to lean his head back awkwardly so they wouldn't fall, dark bags hanging under his eyes. Honestly, at this point, they could be Gucci and he wouldn't be surprised in the slightest. He was dressed in a far oversized, dark green hoodie - the sleeves were rolled up carelessly at his elbows, the bottom falling at his mid-thigh - and black leggings that were far too thin for the current feburary they were in. In fact, he wasn't dressed properly at all for the weather, despite just how angerly the wind bit at his exposed skin. He had no gloves, no jacket other than the thin hoodie, no hat, no scarf, no nothing.

At least he was covered, even if it was somewhat.

He sniffled when he felt his nose begin to run, and couldn't help but swear the weather under his breath, burying his face down in a sad attempt to hide it in the cloth of his hoodie. He was sure that he had probably caught a sickness, not caring enough to figure out just which one it was, and was unsurprised with that fact, seeing just how shitt-ily prepared he was for the winter. To hell if he was going to miss a day of work, though, not giving enough fucks to take a longer route just to get out of the cold.

Sometimes he wish he had enough money for a car.

Ducking a few times to miss elbows and getting sworn at by taller men who he had accidentally stepped over, he ran his proposal over in through his head. There was always a likelihood of Jefferson interrupting him in the middle of his speech, so it was important he got it fully memorized, even despite the fact he was up until three rewriting it over and over to get it stored in his memory. Plus, there was always a possibility of him forgetting in the middle and being laughed at- no, worse, stared at, stared at in a judging silence, the same silence that brought a feeling of monachopsis and kenopsia, and god, lachesism. It was one of the reasons he despised silence to the core of his being, and it didn't matter what-

He was cut off by a strange noise leaving his own throat, a noise he didn't know he could make, him stumbling forward slightly before falling. He hardly realized he had bumped into somebody, which was the reason for his fall, far too stuck in his own mind to bother thinking about it. As he fell, all of his books and papers had left his arms at the same time, stumbling along to the gravel alongside him. He winced with the collision of skin to road, instantly catching a downwards sight of his knee which his leggings had torn at, grimacing at a cut being shorn with quick forming blood. He began collecting his books and papers, stopping to sneeze into his elbow, before glancing up at the male he had collided with, narrowing his eyes slightly.

"Well, excuse me. Let me guess, I should have watched where I was going?"


	13. Storm AU - Any

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> []this doesnt have a specific ship, because it can be any character, but it has to be male[]

Storm AU  
Any

Alexander hated May.

No, not the name May - he, personally, didn't know anybody named May. Of course, he had read some books when the name was in use for a specific bubblegum blonde May, but he didn't exactly hate that character, no matter how much she mooched off of her father like a leech. No, he hated the month May, and especially in New York, where thunderstorms were the most common, where rain would wash out the trash in the streets and fog up everybody's view of a mile away, where power would click in and out like it wasn't something that people entirely needed. He was fine with rain, the sort of soft pattering it gave on his windowsill, the small puddles that he didn't entirely hate jumping in, the soft winds and calming nature that relaxed him as he typed in the comfort of his own couch, his own house.

However, when it comes down to it, having a rainstorm was less likely than having a thunderstorm, at least in May. At least once every week, the city would be disrupted with piles of clouds rolling in from the east, dark greys promising a heavy shower. They would force people back into their homes, or stores for shelter, loud cracks of thunder and bolts of lightening waking any sleeping child and stirring whoever with eyes and ears. The winds rattled houses, the cold whipped through thin walls, the thunder broke through silence and the fear that derives from it built up inside of Alexander.

He was never good with these sort of things. Well, when he was much younger, he couldn't quite mind - he was comfortable with scribbling stick figure drawings of his mother on a notebook, snug comfortable under a few layers of thick blanket with a steaming cup of perfectly hot tea in front of him. However, that comfort faded into an unheard of oblivion when the hurricane had hit his town, washing out so many people, destroying so many buildings, ruining so many lives and families. He wasn't afraid of the thunder or lightning, oh no - it was the rain, the wind, the actual components of the storm that do damage. He was terrified of the idea of having to run, hand in hand with his older brother, away from his home and to any sort of shelter that would provide better care. He was scared of being washed off of his feet, the wind being too loud for him to hear his own cries, much less James's, who he had been ripped away from. He was scared of the fast-paced nature making him lose another member of family, another person he loved, just like he had lost James that day.

The anxiety and fear that these storms brought with them seemed to get better over the years, that of which Alexander could be grateful for - it's been five years, Alexander sitting at twenty-two, and he wasn't placed back into the memories again. Well, he was, but they weren't so detailed, weren't so vivid, and that helped, even if barely. He didn't notice the pinkish shade of the water coming from the dead bodies littered on the sidewalks and roads. He didn't hear the screams of pure distress, terror, sadness, any negative emotion one could have. He wasn't able to measure just how high the waves came crashing in, just how many buildings they went higher than, breaking glass and shattering tiles.

Even still, though, he sat on the couch, curled into himself and back pressed flush against his sofa cushions, burying his face in his knees as he attempted to get his laboured breathing in check and the tears streaming down his face to stop their flow. The worst of the storm was over, only a soft patter of calm rain against his windows. It has been a few minutes of him attempting to collect himself, and he was calm for the most part, his shoulders no longer shaking and his mind no longer crowded with just how many people died, just who died, just how all of those bodies looked. His sobs were down to silent tears, and his hiccups were gone, just leaving him in a silence of his own breathing and faint water hitting the glass of his home.

A few more moments passed, and Alexander forced himself to stretch out, grimacing slightly at the pain shooting through his legs with the action after having been sitting for so long. He was exhausted, worn out, and hungry above all else, and he doubted simply sitting there would help any of those issues. After stretching out, he stood up too quickly, a wave of dizziness pushing into his head and blocking out other thoughts that had originally bothered him. He padded to the kitchen, frowning slightly at the loss of light, and tried the lightswitch. It didn't work.

Great.

More irritated than frustrated, mad or anxious, he tried his oven. Nothing. Then, his microwave. Still nothing. Groaning, he checked his coffeepot, extending a hesitant hand to the bowl and cautiously pressing his hand against it. It was freezing. He drew his hands down his face, his mind swirling with different swears that he would have no need spilling out loud. Of course he was going to lose power, which was not only awful on its own, but meant that he lost his internet, making him unable to work while eating - which was his original plan.

However.

Glancing out the window, his vision blurred from all of the raindrops falling against the glass, his eyes narrowed when he noticed his neighbours lights on, a small frown playing on his lips. Just his luck, of course, that he would be the only person to lose power. And, trust me, he wanted to be frustrated over that, maybe call somebody and ask what was up, but he was too busy formulating an idea that had him leaving to his room, tugging on a sweatshirt.

Perhaps it was because he was tired, or he truly didn't care about disturbing peace, but he wasn't taking his time to think too much about it, instead grabbing a bowl, a fork and an unopened container of ramen. He then grabbed his macbook, sliding that under his arm, before leaving his house, already shivering slightly from the wind that had become much calmer than before. It wasn't terrible, of course, but Alexander didn't want to bother spending his time in it, instead padding to his neighbour's house and knocking on the door. When it opened, Alexander was staring down at his feet, and didn't bother looking up, instead speaking.

"Hi. So, uhm- my power went off in the storm, and I see your lights are still working, so clearly, you still have power. And, ah- I need to make myself some food, and I also have to work, of course, but my internet is down as well, and I was sort of wondering if I could use your oven and your internet just for a short while until all of my stuff powers back on again."


End file.
